


Ride Em' Cowboy

by project_canary



Series: Take Me Home [3]
Category: Sideshow - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Western AU, and this is the horse girl story, basically a red dead au, theyre all cowboys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:53:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21819991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/project_canary/pseuds/project_canary
Summary: Buck has a strange encounter during a snowstorm, and ends up making a friend for life.
Series: Take Me Home [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1572283





	Ride Em' Cowboy

Buck loved to watch the horses. He had never seen so many, moving so precisely like that without humans. Sure, the policemen back in the city had horses, but they didn’t look like this. As they rode up to the next ridge, Criken said these were mustangs, wild horses. He had told Buck to keep his distance, that even though our horses are tame, it only takes one strong lead in a herd for their natural instincts to take over, and then you’re left in the dirt 20 miles from home. One of the mustangs raised their head from grazing, lifting his nose to the air.

“She’s trying to catch our scent,” Criken explained as he pulled his bandana higher over his nose, the wind picking up, blowing snow into their faces. Buck squinted, watching the dark colored horse flare its nostrils, a white cloud trailing out of her nose. She snorted, shaking her head, her ears laying flat. Criken pulled his reins, turning his horse back towards the ranch. “We should probably head back,” His voice alluding to caution. “We don’t want to be caught in a night storm.” Buck watched the mare, her long mane catching in the wind, staring down Buck and his own horse, who stopped his foot in impatience. Buck patted him on the neck.

“Easy boy,” He whispered, finally turning his own horse to follow Criken back down the ridge. He pressed his horse forward, galloping to catch up with Criken, and then they both took off, making their way back to the relative safety of the ranch. Buck just had to hold on, his horse following Crikens.’ The ride back was barren of conversation, not as if Buck could have heard Criken over the howling winds and blowing snow. Buck had done this ride enough times now that he knew that they had crossed back over onto Criken’s land, and that even if he fell of, he would be able to make it home from here.

Home. It was a strange word these days, and Buck had caught himself more than once referring to this place as home, despite his constant whining about wanting to go back east to the cities and the people and his parents.

They dismounted and entered the stables, Criken pushing shut the thick wooden barn doors and cutting off the wind. Buck’s horse shook, snow flying from its haunches, and Buck did the same, the snow on his hat and poncho falling to the hay covered ground. Criken pulled down his bandana, hanging his hat on a hook by the door. He lead his horse to its stall, gently removing its bridle and saddle, hanging the wet tack over the low stall wall.

“I’m going to go in and start the fire. Could you finish these chores?” Criken removed his hat from the hook, pulling his bandana back over his mouth. Buck grunted out a yes as he lifted the saddle of his horse, staggering as he quickly slapped it onto the rack. He breathed out, examining the now empty stables. A lantern was lit still and cast a small circle of light on one part of the barn, but the white blinding snow outside created an uneasy brightness.

In the relative warm of the barn, Buck removed his hat, then his wet poncho, lifting it over his head and draping it over one of the stall walls. His shirt wasn’t completely soaked yet, but the dampness left him shivering. The horses seemed content however, happily nibbling hay, their bodies steaming as the snow melted off of them. Buck grabbed one of the drier towels, first wiping his own face and then starting to towel off the horse’s legs. His horse snorted happily, flicking hay into the air. Buck moved onto the other horse, whistling softly to himself, content with the little amount of work. He ran his hand over the brand on the horses haunch, the animals’ long winter coat almost obscuring the mark.

Suddenly a large bang against the door caused Buck to jump, and the horse’s all quickly raised their heads. Buck put down the towel, taking a few steps towards the front of the barn. It was probably just the wind, he thought.

Again, something ran into the door, slamming wood against wood, and as Buck got closer he could hear heavy breathing. Against his better judgement, Buck opened the door.

There was a explosion of snow and movement as something jumped into the barn in a flurry of white. The storm was now going full force, and Buck struggled to close the door again. As he turned around, he could see what he let into the barn. The other horses were anxiously snorting and pawing at the ground, no longer content with their hay. Between them, a tan and white horse stood, shaking with cold, the whites of its eyes showing as it stared at Buck. Snow was matted into its legs and its tail, and its long mane was soaking wet. It’s nostrils flared, taking in the smells of the barn.

“Easy there,” Buck held out his arms, bending his knees and trying to look as non-threatening as possible. The horse lowered its head as well, breathing in deeply. “Here, smell me.” Buck reached out his own hand, looking down as he did so. He could feel the horses’ breath on his hand, a warmth and wetness as the condensation cooled in the air. Buck slowly looked up and could see the horse had turned its head away, exposing the other side of its neck. Buck gasped.

Three gashes, still red and oozing blood stood out bright on the animal’s flesh. Buck looked at the animal’s eyes. It wasn’t afraid of Buck, he realized. It was afraid of what had chased it into here.

“You’re safe here,” Buck whispered, standing all the way up. The horse’s head went up as well to follow Buck as he walked to the other stalls to grab the towel and some antiseptic. He had seen it earlier when Criken was showing him around the stable. The brown bottle was half full, and Buck swirled it as he pivoted back to the horse, who was still standing frozen in the middle of the stables. He poured a little of the liquid onto the towel, feeling his hand go cold where the solution soaked through to his skin. Painstakingly, he took a step, and then another step as he got closer and closer to the horse. It didn’t move, just raised its head and swiveled its ears in curiosity. Finally, Buck was close enough to wipe down the horse’s neck and went about cleaning the wound. Buck kept talking the entire time, his sentences becoming nonsense quickly but it seemed to keep the horse calm, so he continued.

Eventually, when he was satisfied with his work, Buck tried to find a blanket for the horse. There wasn’t much in the barn, but as Buck went searching in the corners he found an old blanket covered in hay. Good enough.

The horse was not having that at all. When Buck first approached with the blanket, it immediately reared, scaring the other two horses who had finally settled back into their hay. Buck had dropped the blanket, holding his hands up.

“No blanket! See!” The horse snorted back loudly, shaking its head. Buck slowly bent over, picking up the blanket again and wrapping it around himself. “It’s warm!” Buck argued as if the horse could understand him. As if to further his point, Buck plopped himself down into the hay, sitting cross-legged on the ground, the blanket surrounding him. It was surprisingly warm on the ground, and the horse dropped its head, gingerly taking a few steps forward and sniffing Buck’s face. Now sitting, the weight of the ride and the whole afternoon of work suddenly fell on him, and Buck felt his eyelids getting lower.

Criken shoved more wood into the fireplace and glanced once again at the door. Buck still hadn’t come in from the barn, and he was beginning to worry that something had happened. Wiping down the tack and feeding the horses shouldn’t have taken that long, and dinner was already getting cold. Criken stared at his coat at the door, weighing his options. Buck could just be hanging out in the barn, and wanted to be alone. If so, Criken going out looking for him would just be rude. On the other hand, Buck might have somehow gotten hurt, or lost between the barn and the house and could be freezing to death right now.

The second seemed more likely, and Criken threw on his coat to once again brave the winter storm. It was dark, and if Criken didn’t know the exact path by heart, he would’ve probably been lost in the white out conditions. As he drew closer, the faint glow of the barn was able to guide him to the door. He pushed it open, the snow piling behind the wood making it harder as he struggled to get in. He paused, the door still open behind him as he tried to take in the scene in front of him.

A strange horse was curled on the hay covered ground, its ears flat against its head as it noticed Criken standing in the doorway. In between its front and back legs, laying on its stomach was Buck, wrapped in a blanket and fast asleep. Criken exhaled a relieved breath and grunted as he shut the barn door. The noises seemed be enough to wake Buck, who yawned, stretching his arms up.

“Buck?” Criken kept his voice low, just a tiny bit afraid of getting too close, as the horse seemed to pin its’ ears more as Criken tried to step forward.

“Hm? Yeah?” Buck responded, blinking and rubbing his eyes, the blanket falling from his shoulders. Buck finally seemed to be cognitive enough to remember where he was, and smiled, slowly petting the horse’s neck. “I told you the blanket was warm.” Buck stood and the horse stood with him, shaking off loose hay.

“Buck, what are you doing?” Criken kept his eyes on the horse. “You do know what that is?”

“Uh, it’s a horse.”

“It’s a mustang.” Criken could feel his heartbeat beginning to race. “Where did you find it?” Buck patted the horse on the neck.

“It was hurt.” Criken didn’t say anything. “It was trying to get into the barn.” Criken exhaled.

“Okay, well if it doesn’t break down the barn by tomorrow, we’re going to set it free. It’s not tame Buck.” Suddenly, Buck got defensive, standing in front of the animal.

“Well, what if I trained it?” Criken’s shoulders dropped.

“Buck, you’ve never trained a horse, let alone broken a wild horse before.”

“Yeah, but…I could learn.”

–

It takes a less than a year. The horse, who Buck names Jerry, never throws Buck off, but does get close a few times. Both of them are too stubborn for their own good, but Criken sees that they are more than perfect together. Criken had seen Jerry catch Buck when he seems to fall a little too far off the side, watching him nudge Buck back into the saddle. The two seemed to be able to read each other’s mind, and Buck had gotten really good at riding without tack, disliking how much it seemed to inhibit Jerry. And Jerry never let anyone else ride him. Typical. Criken was hesitant at first, until he got to watch the two on a job.

He didn’t mean to introduce Buck to his other side until he was ready, but when bandits showed up at the farmhouse, Criken had no choice but to give Buck a very brief history lesson as he loaded the shotgun.

“Buck,” He pushed the bullets in, cocking the gun back. “I’m not just a priest.”

“Yeah.” Buck gestured to the gun. “I kind of got that.” Criken tossed the gun to Buck, who threw the strap over his head. Criken pulled another one out from above the fireplace.

“Yes, but…” Criken tried to keep explaining, but Buck interrupted him.

“Criken. I was on that train.” The wheels turned quickly in Criken’s head.

“Oh.” A smile broke out across Buck’s face.

“I’ve been waiting for this.” Criken smiled back, cocking his shotgun.

“I need you to go out to the barn. If anything happens, I need to go to town and get Tomato.” Buck opened his mouth to protest, but a loud banging at the door interrupted him. “Go!” Criken whispered, pushing Buck out the back door, sending him stumbling into the sand. Criken shut the door, and he could hear him yelling back, his voice muffled. “Who is it?” Buck could see the barn in the distance, and pushed himself up, running to the building.

Jerry lifted his head as Buck entered, a mouthful of hay hanging down from his mouth.

“Hey J,” Buck whispered, pushing the door open wider. “We’ve got some saving to do.” He vaulted onto Jerry’s back, urging him forward.

“We want our money priest!” Criken could hear through the door. “And we know you’ve got it!”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about sir, but I’m sure we can come to a reasonable agree-” The door splintered as the man kicked it again, and he ran in, focusing instantly on Criken, grabbing his collar and knocking the gun out of his hands before Criken could even shoot.

“We’re not coming to any agreement,” the man growled, dragging Criken out the destroyed door, throwing him in the sand in front of three other outlaws, their guns all drawn. “There’s another boy here, search the grounds.” The three nodded and scattered. “Maybe if we bring your stowaway here, you’ll be more…reasonable,” the man laughed.

Buck rode slowly back to the house, his eyes well adjusted to the dark as he held the shotgun in both hands. He didn’t want to use it, it would draw too much attention. Jerry stopped walking, his ears swiveling and focusing forward. Buck followed them, seeing the faint outline of a man as he snuck towards the barn. Buck leaned closer to Jerry’s neck, swinging the shotgun around to his back.

“Who’s there?” The bandit swung his gun around and Buck leaned off the the side, hiding himself from the man’s sight. Jerry lowered his head, grazing on the shrub grass. “Fuckin’ horse…” The man grumbled as he kept walking towards the barn. Buck pulled himself back up and Jerry took off toward the man, who just had time to look and see the butt of a shotgun hit him in the face as Buck passed. Jerry spun around on his haunches, stopping as Buck pulled on his mane.

“Greg? You there?” Buck heard the next one call. He patted Jerry’s neck.

“One down…” Buck grinned as Jerry galloped away.

–

There was the echo of a shotgun and both Criken and the outlaw looked to the noise. The outlaw smiled.

“Dead or alive is the saying right?” He laughed. Criken felt his face go red as anger flooded his body. But before he could do anything, a flash of white and tan ran between the two, and Criken found himself being lifted onto the back of a horse, Buck holding onto him desperately as Jerry kept galloping. A bullet whizzed by their heads.

“We have to go back!” Criken yelled.

“Are you crazy?” Buck yelped back as another shot rang out.

“He’s just going to keep hunting us! And you’re the crazy one!” Buck leaned back and Jerry slammed on the brakes, spinning quickly and galloping back. Buck pulled the shotgun off his back and handed it to Criken.

Criken aimed, saw the outlaw aim back, and pulled the trigger.

They buried the bodies. It wasn’t out of courtesy, but more because anything that attracted more predators was bad news. Buck dug, Criken rolling them all in, and they both buried.

As they stood there, Jerry nuzzling Buck’s side because he knew there were treats in his pocket, Criken looked out into the sand and scrub of his land. It wasn’t the first graves Criken had on the property, and it wouldn’t be the last. But at least now someone would be here to bury him when the time came. 


End file.
